


Stay Sexy

by MorganOfTheFey



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Deacon is a smartass, F/M, Lingerie, Masturbation, Strip Tease, We're all going to HELL, a little bit of mild pain play, and a sub who likes being bossed around, dirty talk that also sounds like spiritual advice, maybe also a bit of a Bible kink?, roleplaying, sexy times in chapter two, super light bdsm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6120166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganOfTheFey/pseuds/MorganOfTheFey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deacon finds a black thong in Sole's closet, and he thinks waiting for her to get back while stretched out on her bed in his own pair of lace panties is the best way to confront her about this. Except it's not all kink and games when the thong turns out to be a remnant of Nate's infidelity.</p><p>Awkward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Motherfucker!

**Author's Note:**

> transhancock on tumblr got an ask for how Hancock would handle finding Sole's lingerie, and then I started thinking about how Deacon would handle it, and the angst happened because I'm trash.

Deacon sits on the edge of the bed, crossing and uncrossing his legs, then laying back, half sitting up on his elbows, adjusting the lace panties covering his crotch. He has to play this perfectly when Sole walks in. The black thong he'd found in the back of their closet lays on the bed beside him, and he slips one finger into the fabric to twirl it around when he hears her footsteps coming down the hall. Deep breath, big grin, dramatic pose … show time.

Sole opens the door and blinks when she sees him laying on her bed like a pin up girl, back arched, propped up on one elbow, legs artfully arranged. Her gaze sweeps him up and down, pausing on the dark pink panties that are _juuuuust_ sheer enough to give a sneak peek at what they're covering. She blinks again, then laughs and leans against the doorway with a grin while she waits for his explanation. Perfect. Deacon gives a chuckle of his own, preparing to play this off as an elaborate joke if that's the only type of happy ending she wants.

“I thought we could be twinsies,” he says. “It's not fair to let you be the only beautiful doll in the house.”

Sole's grin widens and she starts to reply, but he just has to be a smartass and twirl the thong around his finger to tease her. He knows it's a mistake the second her eyes focus on them, the good humor dropping from her all at once. He doesn't know why it's a mistake or what exactly about the thong that changed the whole mood of the moment, but he feels something deflate inside himself.

“Where did you get those?” Sole asks quietly.

Deacon still tries to salvage the show anyway. “Well, it's a long story involving a brahmin stampede and—”

“Deacon.”

His name makes him stop and reevaluate. There's no saving this moment. Now his pose feels ridiculous and he's far too exposed in nothing but a pair of his own panties, and he wishes he could sit up or grab a pillow for cover, but Sole is wound so tight all of a sudden that he's afraid any undue movement will make her snap or scare her off.

“In the back of your closet,” he answers.

Sole's jaw tightens. “Which side?”

Deacon pauses a moment. Which side of the closet? Why would that be—her side or his side. Nate's side. She wasn't disgusted by seeing him in panties, so he doubted she would have cared if Nate had been into that sort of thing too. And there was only one other reason a man would hide a black thong his wife didn't know about in the back of his side of the closet. Deacon's mind races—for Sole's sake, he hopes the answer he has means he found them in her side of the closet. A drunken purchase or a gag gift that she forgot about. Should he try to guess which side is hers, spare her the hurt?

He risks pausing another moment to glance at her eyes. No, that was the look of a woman who had already been lied to about this before. Even if he was only trying to protect her, she would see it as yet another person trying to cover up Nate's mistakes, supporting him over her, even two hundred years later when he was dead.

“Left,” Deacon tells her.

“Motherfucker!”

Her palm slams into the doorframe, gripping the wood like she's holding herself back from putting her fist through the wall. Deacon reevaluates every single choice he made that lead to this moment. He fucked things up a lot—especially maintaining friendships—but whoo boy, had he fucked this up beyond redemption. Exposing his best friend's dead husband's infidelity as part of a prank-slash-come-on while laying on their marriage bed in lacy panties that barely covered his ass. It'd be a fucking hilarious story if he didn't hate himself so much.

“He told me, he promised—he fucking promised …” Sole's voice cracks and she trails off at the end.

Deacon never thought he could hate anything as much as he hates the Institute, but he hates Nate pretty goddamn close to that much. He doesn't know what to do, there's nothing he can say to fix this. He thinks about apologizing, but immediately cuts that off. How many times had she already heard that, _I'm sorry honey, I didn't mean to._

Just when he's seriously contemplating throwing himself out the bedroom window, Sole straightens up, breathes out, and all of her anger melts off her body.

“I'm going to give those to Hancock,” she says in a perfectly calm voice. “I don't want to look at them ever again, and if they're not his size, I'm sure he can find somebody who will put them to good use.”

“You know what, I can do that for you,” Deacon immediately says, taking the opportunity to stand up, out of that ridiculous pin up girl pose.

But Sole stops him with a hand to his chest. “Stay.”

Deacon can't understand why she would want to look at _him_ ever again after this, but whatever Sole wants from him, she gets. The first thing she does is take the thong, wad it up, and throw it into the hall, remnants of her anger showing through again. Then she closes the door and goes to her dresser to pull out a pair of sweatpants and a large t-shirt. Very large, in fact. He's seen pictures of Nate, big enough to compete with Arthur Maxson, and if that giant of a man was proportional in every way, Deacon is damn glad Sole isn't offering him a pair of his old boxers because he's certain that would make him feel woefully inadequate. More so than usual, at least.

But that does leave the problem of what to do with the panties. Deacon takes the spare clothes from Sole with a grateful nod, then turns around in an attempt to give the both of them some sort of privacy, but Sole steps up and touches his hand when he puts it on the elastic of his panties to take them off.

“Those can stay too,” she says in a voice that isn't quite steady.

Deacon takes a deep breath and hopes he can make his own voice sound normal. “Your wish is my strong recommendation.”

Sole giggles and moves away, and he throws on the clothes, trying not to think too hard about how the pants barely stay on his narrow hips and the t-shirt dwarves him. When he turns around, Sole is sitting on the bed with the pillows propped up, holding the latest paperback novel she'd taken an interest in.

“Read to me?” she asks.

It's what they do sometimes, in the evening usually or when she has a nightmare and can't sleep. Deacon can't get a bead on her, how her anger was so explosive and then just disappeared, but if this is the sort of comfort she wants from him, he can provide. He sits on the bed next to her, and she snuggles up to his side, prompting him to risk putting an arm around her. She doesn't protest.

Deacon can't concentrate on what he's reading. His eyes are scanning the page and his mouth is making words, but he has no idea what he's saying. All he can think about is Sole's warmth pressed against him. He can't believe she hasn't thrown him out and demanded he never come near her again. She's been remarkably cool about his inherent need to snoop so far, but whether he'd meant to or not, he'd just stepped into her marriage, personal life shit he never should have messed with.

Sole slips out from under his arm after half an hour to stretch and pop her back, and Deacon forces himself to stop being such a goddamn coward.

“Are you good?” he asks her.

It's too serious, too real, but he'll go there if she needs someone to talk to. Sole sits next to him for a moment, slumped against the pillows and staring at the wall before she sighs and cracks a tiny smile.

“Fair play,” she says.

Deacon still can't get a read on her and it's starting to make the spot between his shoulderblades itch. “Not following, boss.”

“He cheated on me,” Sole says. “A lot, and apparently even after I thought he'd finally stopped. I thought we'd turned it all around and had a good marriage and—and we were really happy those last few years, but I guess it wasn't … whatever, I don't need to feel guilty.”

“Hell no you don't,” Deacon immediately agrees. “… what do you not need to feel guilty about?”

Sole's smile widens just a little bit as she looks at him, and then she wiggles her way back under his arm, wrapping her own arms around his chest. Her cheek lays against his shoulder and her legs press into his own, and it's so easy to let his head drop down, low enough that her hair brushes his nose and lips. She insists on bathing every day, nearly a lost practice in the 'Wealth, and she smells clean. Like soft breezes on sunny days, and wow, he is so fucked if he's actually thinking that sappy shit inside his own stupid head.

“This,” she whispers.


	2. Spiritual Bondage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deacon and Sole talk it out, including some biblical themed dirty talk and leading to Sole masturbating while Deacon strips for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're all going to hell together for this

Deacon blinks behind his shades, and all he can think to say is to repeat, “This?”

Sole nods against his shoulder. “Nate is dead. It's not like—he's actually dead, not studying for law school, or gone at work, or two exhausted from pushing a fucking baby out of his body. He's dead. And even if he wasn't, if—if this was actually cheating … fair play.”

Deacon wishes Tom was right and he actually is a time traveller because then he could go back in time and punch Nate in the face. Which would probably require drugging the man first or shooting out both his kneecaps—or both, why limit himself to just one option?—because there's no way he would win in a fair fight. Fortunately, Deacon's never been one to fight fair. Unfortunately, he doesn't have the means to make that particular fantasy possible.

He does know that Nora hasn't been back up to the Vault though, that Nate's body is still—no. He's not going to rough up the frozen corpse of his best friend's husband, holy shit, why would he even think of something that fucked up?

“I can have this,” Sole mumbles fiercely into Deacon's shoulder, squeezing him even harder. “And he can go fuck himself.”

Deacon rubs his hand up and down her back for lack of anything comforting to say. He's worried any words he tries to force out will ruin the moment. Sound too sincere. You can have anything you want from me. Better to keep those words stuffed down in the back of his throat even if they choked him. For all he knew, she just meant a close friendship, a bond with a man who wasn't Nate. Whatever “this” was, she might want it to be totally platonic and that was fine. Peachy. Just fucking fine, it wasn't killing him at all, he was fine fine fine.

“So what was your master plan, anyway?” Sole asks, swallowing hard and breathing out to sound normal again. “Waiting here like that?”

Deacon clears his throat to match his tone to hers, as light and playful as he can make it. “Oh, you know. Start a Bible study club, learn about abstinence, maybe take up knitting.”

Sole laughs, and it's all worth it to hear that sound. “Damn, too bad I missed out on that.”

“Well, I'm here all week if you want an encore.”

“What about right now?”

Deacon doesn't let himself hope that Sole actually wants to pick back up on where they'd left off, when they'd been leaning against the doorway and eyeing him up like a fresh brahmin steak. He tells himself that it's just the banter, that's what the two of them do, they flirt and egg each other on.

Then Sole's hand slips beneath the waistband of his sweats and her fingers brush over the very tops of his panties.

“Know any good Bible verses off the top of your … ah, head?” she teases.

“Well, as a certified deacon,” he desperately stalls, mind wiped blank by fingertips nudging into his happy trail. “Who has had a very special and direct link with God for many years now,”

Sole giggles and scratches down his abdomen, down even further, pushing his panties lower a millimeter with her nails, and Deacon has to grip the sheets with his free hand on the other side of his lap where she can't see.

“I can assure you that the verses themselves are not as important as having a personal relationship.”

“Oh really?” Sole murmurs, pushing the edge of his panties down another millimeter.

“Yes, a connection that uh, intimately joins you to the Lord,”

“Mmhmm.”

Sole scratches back up his abdomen and Deacon shivers, but his voice stays steady. Easier to keep his cool now when he's simply being tortured, not dealing with emotions.

“With spiritual bondage,”

“Yes, of course.”

Sole trails her fingers back down and actually slips them beneath the lacy elastic to brush her thumb across the curly red hairs right at the base of his cock, and Deacon's eyes twist shut. He doesn't bother to thank God for his sunglasses because he knows he's going to Hell for this.

“So that you may be touched by the Spirit.”

“Touched where?” Sole breathes in his ear, thumb still making maddening circles.

“The deepest part of you,” Deacon replies, unable to stop his voice from dropping to a low growl. “If you open yourself up to him, the Spirit will come inside you.”

Sole inhales sharply and presses her lips together, but she only holds it in for a few seconds before she burst out laughing, leaning against Deacon's body for support, taking her hand out of his pants to slap his chest with the hilarity of their game.

“I can't,” she gasps through her laughter.

Witty banter. It was what they two, two pals, two bestest totally platonic friends.

“The state of your soul is no laughing matter,” Deacon replies. “But I've been told my proselytizing can get long winded, so I can—”

“Wait!”

Deacon had started to slide out of bed, but Sole grabs him by the sleeve before he gets both feet on the ground.

“I'm hitting on you,” she says without preamble.

Deacon just stares at her in response, not fully believing he'd really heard that right.

“That was me, um,” she bites her lip with a nervous pause, “making a move.”

Deacon stays frozen, with one foot on the floor and half his lap still sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Which, maybe this wasn't, you know, the best timing,” she stammers. “What with the dead husband talk and all, but like, your wife is just as dead and—and oh my god, I just said that to your face, fuck, I—I'm—shit.”

Her wide look of panicked embarrassment finally snaps Deacon out of it, and he slides back onto the bed to cup her face.

“Hey, hey, easy,” he says softly. “It's all right. Anything you want, boss.”

He tries to keep his voice light and comforting, but it still comes off a touch too sincere for his taste. Still, Sole breathes out a big sigh of relief and starts to give him a shy grin before a thought occurs to her, flickering across her face so obviously it makes him ache. She can't keep wearing her heart on her sleeve like this. Someone is going to rip it off one day. She needs to keep it safe and hidden and guarded, needs her own pair of sunglasses, needs to stay away from lying murdering scum like himself—but those thoughts are for another pity party because right now she looks worried and he needs to fix that.

“That's a term of endearment, right?” she asks. “You know I'm not—you're not doing this just because you think you have to …?”

Deacon tugs her into his lap, his hand still on her cheek guiding her head down so her lips are centimeters away from his. He pauses then, gives her plenty of time to pull away, his grip light enough she could easily shake him. She gives an impatient squirm though and then surges forward to kiss him before he can kiss her, humming in delight when he lets her lead. Whatever she wants.

Sole pulls back after a moment to look at him, as much as she can with his sunglasses still on. Deacon swallows hard past the lump of words still caught in the back of his throat.

“You're my best friend,” he says.

_I love you._

_I trust you._

_Please don't ask me to take them off._

A thousand other things he can't say, so he hopes that will be enough.

“You too,” Sole replies. “So uh, was this a I'm-sorry-you're-husband-is-a-dead-asshole comfort kiss or are we actually going to bang? Because I was really hoping for a strip tease.”

Deacon laughs, relaxing into the moment. “Well, I aim to please, boss.”

He winks at her before getting out of bed, and she makes what sounds like an excited squeal. He watches in amusement as she grabs all the pillows and rearranges them so she can lay down on the bed but still propped up enough to watch him teasingly play with the hem of his shirt, but an unexpected punch of lust hits him when she sticks her hand down her pants without an ounce of shame.

She really does want to watch him strip.

“Bah duh duh dah dahhh,” Sole sings in an off key, out of tune, absolutely horrible rendition of bad porn music.

Deacon still starts to swing his hips anyway, because he is so fucking compromised for her. He lifts his shirt up, over his stomach, almost up to his chest, hips swaying as he grins at her. She stops singing and drops down into a hum when he lifts just enough to flash one nipple at her before dropping the shirt and turning around. Her disgruntled whine makes him smirk at the closed door, and he crosses his arms to grab either side of the hem of his shirt and start slowly pulling it up again. 

Too much muscle would be a defining physical characteristic, something a witness could remember about him, and Deacon works hard at staying perfectly average. Not beefy, but not too scrawny either. Still, average ain't bad, and he knows how to flex his back muscles to show off a little as he pulls the shirt over his head. When he turns back around, he still has the shirt wrapped around his arms and he uses it to hide his chest in faux modesty even as he pouts out his lower lip and swivels his hips. Sole's humming deepens into a moan, and he can see her hand rubbing beneath her pants.

“Trade you,” he tells her in a low voice.

He makes a small gesture with his arms trapped inside the shirt, and her eyes light up with understanding. She takes her hand out of her pants, and he spots a flash of wetness on her fingers before she grabs her shirt and works on pulling it over her head. She gets a little bit stuck for a moment, and he chuckles. His laughter dries up when she gets it off though, revealing she hasn't kept up with Pre-War standards of wearing a bra. She tosses her shirt on the floor at his feet in a challenge—a challenge that he accepts when he flexes his arms to roll the shirt down to his wrists and finally slides it off completely to drop it on top of hers.

Sole settles back down on her pillows with a breathy sigh, and oh. Looks like he's getting a show too as she sneaks one hand back down into her pants and cups a breast with her other hand. Not to be outdone, Deacon slips both his thumbs into the elastic of his sweatpants, pushing them down a little with each swing of his hips. She meets him score for score and rolls her nipple between her fingers, biting her lip as she drags her gaze down his chest to his crotch like a physical caress. He pushes his sweats down just enough to show off his erection bulging against the lace of his panties in retaliation, taking satisfaction in the way she hisses and bucks her hips a little at the sight.

“What happened to my music?” he asks, just to be an ass.

Sole blinks at him, then gives a pouty huff. “We're at a pause.”

He responds with his patented shit-eating grin. “Oh yeah?”

“Lots of music has pauses,” she defended.

“Hmm.” He puts one hand on his hip and raises the other to tap a finger against his chin as he pretends to think, sweats still pushed down around his thighs. “I suppose a lot of songs do have pauses.”

Sole groans. “Deacon …”

“Like 'Bernadette' by the Four Tops,” he continues, loving the way she whines and squirms in frustration as he messes with her.

“I swear to God.”

“Or,” he tips his head down to leer at her over the tops of his sunglasses. “'Foxey Lady' by Jimi Hendrix. That lasts a whole two seconds.”

“I hate you so much.”

“Bowie could've had a great pause in 'Young Americans'.”

Sole lets out a sound close to a growl and starts moving her hand inside her pants again, harshly squeezing her own breast like she's going to get off whether he plays along or not. Deacon swallows thickly at the sight but keeps fighting the good fight.

“He could've drawn it out to a full second, hell maybe even two or three after ' … break down and cry … ' if he—”

“Oh yes!” Sole cries in mock ecstasy. “Right there, Deacon, give it to me with that obscure, anachronistic knowledge!”

This time Deacon breaks down in laughter in the middle of their game, bracing a hand against the nightstand as he doubles over. Sole reaches behind herself to grab a pillow and throw it at him. He doesn't even try to fend it off. He is a bad, bad sinner. When he looks up, she's smiling too, like she just can't help herself. He suddenly wants to be back on the bed with her, have her pressed against him again so he knows this is real and she's looking at him like that. Something of his thoughts must show on his face even with the barrier of the sunglasses because her expression morphs into one of similar longing, and she reaches out for him.

“General, there's a—”

Deacon grits his teeth to hold back a sigh or a biting comment. Preston Garvey is literally an angel, and it's not his fault the two of them are dirty sinners.

“… problem,” Preston finishes.

“Is something on fire?” Sole asks.

“Yes.”

She drops her head down onto her pillows and groans.

“Tom and Sturges made—”

She groans louder, and Deacon feels like adding to it.

“Made something that exploded,” Preston bravely continues. “And, um … might still be exploding … a little bit … right now. Ah, Marcy is screaming at them and everyone else, and Mama Murphey is complaining that the stress is going to give her a heart attack unless she gets some Jet.”

Sole sighs. “Will you think less of me if I roll onto my stomach and thrash my arms and legs and scream I don't wanna, I don't wanna?”

Deacon snorts, and Preston glances over at him before his eyes dart away as he stares pointedly at the wall. If Deacon was a good person, he'd pull his sweats up.

“General,” Preston tries.

“I'd say I'm coming, but apparently I'm not,” Sole grumbles, yanking her hand out of her pants and sitting up.

“I'm just going to go …” Preston starts backing out the door, “monitor the situation until you get there. Shortly. You'll be there shortly.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sole waves him off. “Shortly.”

“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” Deacon tells her after Preston leaves.

“I'm gonna _giveth_ it to you tonight, buddy boy,” Sole retorts.

She pulls on Nate's shirt that he'd been wearing, then eyes him up. Deacon obligingly leans back to grip the edges of the nightstand behind him, legs spread a bit wider than they need to be, hips thrust out to give her a good view. She saunters closer and reaches out to trail a fingertip up the shaft of his cock, then flicks the head peeking out at the top. Deacon gasps from the pain, twitching his hips forward, and she grabs the back of his neck to pull him into a rough kiss. He groans into it, grip tightening on the wood to keep his hands to himself. She pulls back and he has to force down her name, her real name, back with all the other things he can't say. Her pupils are blown wide with desire, but when she leans back into another kiss, it's just a chaste peck, and somehow that's what makes him blush up to his ears.

Then she steps back and smiles at him like nothing's changed between them.

“You stay sexy until I get back,” she says with a wink.

Deacon can only nod as she walks out the door, then sag back against the nightstand when she's gone. His cock aches and who knows how long calming everyone down would take. She could be gone for an hour, at least. His gaze falls on her shirt still laying on the floor, and he gets an idea of how he can spend his time. He picks it up with a grin and flops down into her bed, scooting around to get comfortable and kicking off the sweatpants. The shirt still smells like her, and his hand drifts down palm himself through his panties. She did say to stay sexy …


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deacon has some alone time to "stay sexy" until Sole gets back, then puts his silver tongue to good use ...

Deacon arches his back with a gasp, rubbing his thumb more firmly against the sensitive glans beneath the head of his cock. His other hand presses Sole’s shirt harder into his face. He’s been edging himself for too long to bother feeling creepy for getting off on her scent. Is there any chance she’ll get back soon? He wants to wait for her, but it’s been so long, and he’s so, so close. He starts bargaining with himself, just thirty more seconds. Then another thirty. And another.

His thighs start trembling. He’s bucking up into his fist too hard to last another thirty seconds, but he can’t bring himself to stop. It feels too good. He reasons to himself that Sole has been gone long enough that since she’s not back now, she probably won’t be back for a while. Might as well get himself off now, give himself time to rest, and then he’ll last longer when she gets back.

So he slips a finger inside his mouth, too far gone to think he can work himself up to two, and gives it a hard suck. It’s torture to slow his strokes to make sure he won’t shoot off before he can even finger himself, but he manages to keep it together long enough to get his finger slick with spit. When he takes it out of his mouth, he has to bite down on Sole’s shirt to keep himself quiet—thin, newly repaired walls in Sanctuary don’t offer much privacy. The hazy wish that she won’t be bothered by the wet spot on her shirt drifts through his mind, but it gets cut off when he comes the moment his finger presses inside. He grits his teeth around the fabric to muffle his moan as he strokes himself through it, grip rough on his cock and the tip of his finger mercilessly jabbed into his prostate.

Deacon is still shuddering through the aftershocks when Sole opens the door.

“I’m banning Tom from—” She stops and looks him over. “Damn. I guess I can’t trust any of the men in this settlement to handle their tools.”

Deacon rearranges his hands awkwardly at his sides and, despite the embarrassment blushing across his cheeks, manages a weak chuckle. “Sorry, boss.”

“And here I was going to ask you to bless me, Deacon, for I have sinned.” Sole gives him another dirty leer, her eyes pausing on the cum still splattered across his chest. “But now I see you’ve sinned much more mightily than I.”

Deacon shivers under her gaze. “How should I ask forgiveness?”

“Mercy is an important Christian virtue,” Sole says, stepping inside and kicking the door behind her. “And all sinners should have their transgressions forgiven.”

“Lord willing,” Deacon murmurs.

“But you must show an attitude of true repentance,” Sole says.

He sits up as she draws closer and deliberately licks his lips. “Well, I’ve always been good at worshipping on my knees.”

At Sole’s nod, Deacon slides off the bed and onto his knees, and she allows him to unbutton her pants, pushing her jeans down to her thighs.

“For with the heart one believes and is justified,” Sole says.

He nuzzles into the soft cotton of her panties for a second before gently biting the elastic to pull them down with his teeth. His hands come up to grip Sole’s ass from behind and hold him steady as he uses his nose to nudge aside the curls between her legs.

“And with the mouth one confesses and is …” Sole gasps when he takes his first lick, “saved.”

Deacon hums in acknowledgment of the well-chosen verse before guiding her thigh up to rest her knee on his shoulder. Now that she has proper support, he moves his hand from holding her up to parting her folds so he can lick her from slit to clit. Her hands instinctively go to his head but can’t do anything more than smooth over it without any hair to grip. It makes him think about growing it out—his real hair—for the first time in a long time. Sole settles for cupping the back of his head with one hand and gripping her thigh with her other as she rocks onto his face. Deacon rubs the flat of his tongue against her clit until her nails dig into to scratch the back of his neck, then he dips down to gather up her slickness and drag it back up, swirling his tongue in circles around her sensitive nub without directly touching it again.

Sole makes a sound between a whine and a snarl when he pulls his head back.

“Are there any more verses I should take heed of?” he asks innocently.

“Repent and be baptized,” Sole retorts, yanking on his head to try to get it back between her legs.

Deacon relents with a laugh, burying his face back in her wet heat, but she soon decides that isn't enough. They both wind up back on the bed, Deacon on his back with Sole sitting on his face, and neither of them would have it any other way. He loves having her on display right above him, his hands cupping her ass and giving it generous squeezings. She loves having him on his back right below her, where she can set the pace and all he can do is take it. Her hands grip the headboard since he doesn’t have any hair for her to grab onto and she doesn’t want to risk her nails scratching up his bare scalp. The grip gives her extra leverage to grind down on his chin however, her eyes twisting shut with the pleasure.

Sole had honestly been dreaming of fucking Deacon’s face for far too long now. Every time he had the perfect retort or flashed her that shit-eating grin of hers, it was all she could do not to drag him into the closet alleyway and shove him to his knees. And to think, the whole time she spent pining, she probably could have done it without any complaints from his end.

Now she wants to test how far she can push her control.

“Deacon.”

Her voice sounds breathier than she would have liked, but clear enough that he realizes she isn’t just moaning his name. He cracks his eyes open, but—shit, of course she can’t see that through his sunglasses, so he forces himself to pull away from her sweet center.

“Mmhm?”

It’s the best response he can manage with the taste of her still in his mouth and his cock already hard enough for round two. It’s also possible that he’s just a little bit fucked out at the moment, struggling to think clearly past the urge to beg her for another taste.

“Can you keep your tongue out for me?” Sole asks, trailing a fingertip over his jaw. “Don’t move it, don’t suck, just stay still.”

Deacon shivers beneath her, biting back a whimper. “Yeah.”

Sole rewards him with a bright smile and brushes her thumb across his cheek. She loves the way his assent sounds torn from his throat, rough and thick with arousal. How far can she push him …?

“Tap out against my thigh if you need to,” she says.

Yes, she wants to see how far this can go, wants to turn him into a shuddering mess, but not at the expense of his consent. Deacon gives a quick nod, then sticks his tongue out, and the sight of him obeying her without question sends a shiver of her own down her spine. Sole shuffles forward a bit, enough to lower herself down, rubbing her pussy against his tongue until she finds the perfect angle to grind her clit down onto his tongue. Deacon makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, but he doesn’t tap out against her thigh or try to move away. He stays perfectly still just like she told him, and Sole tips her head back on a throaty moan as she truly fucks his face.

The power of keeping him still and obedient like this beneath her is almost enough to get her off on its own, but having something soft and warm to rub her clit against is only pushing toward the edge quicker. She comes with a harsh cry, knees clamping shut around his ears and making his sunglasses shift uncomfortably, but the slight bite of the plastic against her thighs makes the high even better. Deacon uses the tiny bit of pain to keep himself focused, close to following her over the edge without any other stimulation than knowing she’s fucking him like her favorite sex toy, shaking and crying out his name above him.

When Sole comes back down, Deacon makes a questioning noise, tongue still held motionless the way she’d requested. She makes a satisfied hum of consent, and he gives her soft little licks to carry her through the aftershocks, indulging himself a bit too in savoring her taste.

This time he doesn’t manage to hold back his whimper when she pulls away. He wants to come like this, head buried between her thighs, warm and safe and drowning in her taste. He realizes he actually could come like this, doesn’t even need her to touch his cock if she tells him—orders him—to come for her.

But she moves to lay down next to him, maybe a little half on top of him, gently stroking up and down his side. Deacon closes his eyes and lets out a shuddering breath, suddenly grateful for the respite after all. They hadn’t talked about this, he’d never outright told her about his preferences, hadn’t even decided on a safeword. It’s too much, too fast, yet he still feels a bit like he’s floating, only needs a little nudge to sink down to true subspace, and that’s a lot of trust to hand over to someone all at once without any prior discussion.

“You good, snuggums?” Sole asks him softly.

The stupid pet name is ridiculous enough that it breaks the tension, and he lets his head flop over to grin at her as he relaxes. She isn’t just someone, she’s his best friend. She gave him a way out, hasn’t reached for his sunglasses, and now she’s checking in with him.

“I’m just peachy, my little atom bomb baby,” Deacon replies.

Sole groans. “I started something I can’t finish with the nicknames, didn’t I?”

Deacon’s grin widens. “Whoa, hey. I’m the one who hasn’t finished, blossom butt.”

“Mmm, true.” Sole props herself up on her elbow, drawing a fingertip down his chest and taking a long look at his cock peeking out of the lace panties. “You need me to take care of that for you, my sweet cuddle bunbuns?”

“Yes please, dearest duckling dove.”

Sole paused and smirked at him. “I’m pretty sure those are two different animals.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m about to die,” Deacon whines.

Sole laughs mercilessly. “Oh, really?”

“That’s right, my darling gum drop face.”

Sole snorts at that, and as much as Deacon really does want to get off sometime this century, messing with her is just way too fun, especially when he’s rewarded with her smiles and laughter.

“My hunny jelly bean dimples.”

“That doesn’t even—”

“My lovely huggalump kitten.”

“Oh my god.”

“My hunky mookie-pookie bear.”

“Stop, oh fuck, stop!” Sole pleaded in between giggles.

“My beloved pancake princess.”

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and Sole resorts to flicking his nipple, taking advantage of his gasp and momentary distraction to slide down the bed. Deacon’s throat goes dry and he forgets all the other ridiculous pet names he had prepared when she kneels between his legs, hands rubbing his thighs, making eye contact with him as she licks her lips.

“Are you going to be a good boy?” she asks him.

Deacon swallows hard. “Yes, ma'am.”

Sole grins in triumph. “Now that’s what I like to hear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes, sorry this took so long! I actually updated on tumblr a while ago, but I forgot to post on here too >.


	4. God Bless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the good part, guys! Sole fucks herself on Deacon’s cock until she comes, and he is a Very Good Boy who does not come until she allows him to. Plus feelings and witty banter, as always.

“How about you take those off?” Deacon asks as Sole fixes his panties to properly cover his erection again—or at least, as much of it as they can. 

Sole leans back to leer at the way his cock looks clothed in lace. “How about I don’t?“ 

“Ooo, does someone have a kink?” Deacon grins at her as he uses a sing-sing voice. 

Sole raises her eyebrow back at him. “Does someone want a blowjob or not?” 

He drops his head back down on the pillow in a show of surrender. “Someone is shutting up now.“

Sole laughs, rubbing her palms up and down his thighs. Deacon stays still, willing to lay there and accept whatever she decides to give him. He’s so close to surrendering to her completely and letting go, dropping deep into subspace. He can’t remember the last time he got to do this. He’s had versions of subspace over the past few months, yes. Sucking guys off in alleyways and letting Glory belt his ass raw bent over an unused desk at HQ, quick hard fucks where he allowed himself to be used for someone else’s pleasure, and yeah, that sent him right down. 

But those weren’t like this. They didn’t have laughing, with jokes and pet names. Honestly, sometimes they didn’t even have safe words. Not slow and so good it makes him ache. 

The first touch of her tongue to the lace covering his cock breaks Deacon out of his memories. He groans but keeps his hips still for her, and she rewards him with a pleased hum and a quick squeeze to his thighs. It doesn’t take long for the lace to soak through as her tongue laves at the thin fabric, and she draws back to blow on the wet spot, making him shiver at the unexpected chill. 

“Let me hear you,” she tells him. 

“We’re fine here, thanks for asking. How are you?” Deacon replies in a shaky voice. 

Sole shakes her head with a grin. “How do you even know that reference?” 

“What reference?” Deacon asks innocently. 

She sits back on her haunches and waves her hand over his crotch. “This is not the penis I’m looking for.“ 

“Yes it is,” Deacon rushes to correct her. “It really, really is. And I would greatly appreciate it if you would touch it with literally any part of your body, please.”

“The please is a step in the right direction,” she tells him. 

Sole leans back down and licks him again before he can reply, the feeling of her tongue swirling around his head peeking out of his panties overwhelming any sort of response he could have come up with anyway. But once he got his breath back, he made sure to fulfill her earlier order. 

“Fuck that feels good,” he says. “I … nngh, I can still taste you. Where you fucked yourself on my tongue. I’ve been—ahhh, oh fuck, Sole, dreamed about that for so long.“ 

His hands have made fists in the sheets below him, trying not to touch her without her permission as she laps at him. Sole takes the head of his cock into her mouth for just the briefest moment before letting it pop back out and moving down to nuzzle at his length through the panties, then lower. The bridge of her nose presses against his balls, drawn up tight from spending so long close to the edge. 

“Fucked myself before you got back,” Deacon says, voice rough with arousal. “Tried to wait for you, wanted to—to—please!” 

Sole pulls back instead of obliging his plea and Deacon shudders, his cock twitching under the lace. 

“You wanted to be good for me?” she asks him. 

Deacon can only nod, panting for breath from the close call. 

“But you didn’t manage it, did you?“ 

His voice cracks on a wordless whine. 

“Why did you come too soon?” Sole asks, her voice just hard enough to make him squirm. 

“Because I’m a needy slut,” Deacon gasps. 

She pets his thighs in reward for that answer, running her hands up his sides to press down on his ribs. He knows that answer was enough for her, but he needs a little more, so he continues his confession.

“I couldn’t last long enough to use two fingers,” he says. “One was all it took to make me—” 

Sole interrupts him with a short laugh. “Only one? That’s embarrassing.“ 

Deacon nods in agreement, flushed down to his chest with embarrassment and arousal, just the way he likes it. 

“And you were a bad boy.” She pauses to flick his nipple harshly. “Do you want to make it up to me?”

He moans out something that sounds close to a yes. 

“Then I’m going to fuck you until I come,” Sole tells him. “Can you be good until I’m done?“ 

Deacon forces himself to stop to stop and really think about that for a moment. He’s held out against worse, he decides. 

“Yeah,” he answers her. 

She rubs soothing circles into his skin with her thumbs. “Are you sure? I can find something to make a cockring if you need it.” 

He shakes his head. Maybe part of his answer is because he likes the danger, leaving open the possibility that he could fail and come too soon. But part of it also is her taking his word for it that he won’t. He’s literally in a vulnerable position her, and he wants her to trust him back. 

“All right.” Sole gives him a short nod and the benefit of the doubt. “Grab the headboard.“ 

Deacon obeys without comment, using his grip on the sharp edge of the wooden headboard to ground himself. She waits a moment to make sure he’s ready before she pulls the lace panties down to his thighs, not even bothering to take them all the way off. His cock slaps his stomach and his eyes squeeze shut behind his sunglasses before he forces them open again. He doesn’t want to miss a second of this. 

And Sole sinking down onto his cock truly is a beautiful sight, more salvation than a sinner like him could ever deserve. She goes slowly, working her way down a bit before pulling back up, leaving just the head in to torture them both, then taking in a few more inches. Deacon’s thighs are trembling by the time she’s fully seating on him. 

“Let me hear you,” Sole demands once more, tightening around him. 

Deacon lets out a breath he didn’t really know he was holding with a strangled groan. She clenches at him again and this time he thinks it wasn’t deliberate. The thought makes him hiss out another shaky breath through gritted teeth. 

“Fuck me,” he says, surprised he managed to be that coherent. “Just fuck—”

Sole grinds down on him as she rakes her nails down his chest, and he cuts off with a whimper. “Bossy little slut, aren’t you?“ 

He nods, his mouth open and moving, but now he’s too desperate for it to be aware of what he might be saying. It must be some sort of agreement though because she lifts up then drops straight back down, swiveling her hips when she has the whole length of him inside her again. They both groan at that, and Deacon distantly wonders if he’ll cut his hand on the sharp headboard or crack the wood first. 

She keeps that pace up for a few more moments before growing impatient and beginning to fuck him in earnest. All he can do is curl his toes into the sheets and hold on, until he realizes that smart mouth of his is babbling, saying actual words. 

“—me, fuck me, please,” he’s begin. “Use my cock as long as you want, can have my mouth again too, anything you need, just—” 

Sole digs her nails into his stomach where she’s braced her hands for better leverage. “Give it to me.“

Deacon whines high in the back of his throat but he obeys, planting his feet on the mattress so he can finally, finally thrust his hips and fuck up into her. He can’t keep his eyes open for this, can’t risk looking down at where Sole is using his cock to get herself off, can’t do anything but desperately try to keep it together while simultaneously snapping his hips up as hard as he can. 

"Good boy,” she says, her voice low, brow scrunched up as she chases her own pleasure. “Do. Not. Stop.” 

His mouth falls open, nonsense sounds and maybe even words punched out of him as he watches Sole’s own mouth hang open too–shit, that’s why he tried not to look because now he can feel his orgasm curling tight and insistent in his gut. But he can’t disobey, can’t come until she allows him to. So he holds onto the headboard and holds back his release as best he can while listening to her gasp out little breaths every time she slams down on him. He’s still begging, shamelessly pleading with her to come around his cock, and when she starts to tremble and tighten up, he swears his eyes actually roll back in his head. 

*** 

Sole knows she’s sunk her nails too far into Deacon’s chest for it to be pleasurable for him, but she can’t bring herself to extract her claw-grip, not when his cock feels so damn good inside her. She set the angle and pace to start, but now he’s thrusting his hips up with the timing of a goddamn metronome.

And his voice. She’s trying not to moan too loudly just so she can listen to the way he sounds, groaning and begging for her. This is what she wanted. Turning him into a whimpering mess beneath her, struggling to obey her order not to come even though it’s clearly so difficult for him. 

“Touch yourself,” he asks her, the breathless nature of his voice making it clear that’s a plea, not a demand. “Tou–ah, c'mon c'mon c'mon, please.” 

Sole decides Deacon whimpering out the word “please” is the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard. She can’t deny him, finally detaching her grip on his chest to reach down between them. But she bypasses her clit, brushing her fingers over the base of his cock, slick with her arousal, then up to where her entrance is stretched around him, feeling herself take him in on every downward stroke. 

Deacon makes a noise like he’s in pain, turns his head, and bites into the meat of his arm, but he doesn’t come. His sunglasses have slipped down to the tip of his nose, and Sole can see his ridiculous ginger eyebrows drawn together in a strained furrow, his eyes squeezed shut. He’s whining around the meat of his arm, whole body shuddering, but he still doesn’t come. 

That’s what sends Sole over the edge. Her fingers moving up to rub over her clit is secondary, merely driving her orgasm higher, but his obedience is what caused it. She throws her head back and cries out, unable to hold back the sound any longer, almost losing track of Deacon completely as she focuses on her own pleasure and uses his cock like her favorite fucktoy. He keeps fucking her all the way through it, into the aftershocks, only slowing when he moans turn into whines of overstimulation. He still rolls his hips, rocking into her to draw it out for her as long as possible. 

“Stop,” Sole finally tells him, voice rough and thick from hazy pleasure. 

Deacon stops with a shudder, everything but his cock going limp beneath her. He drops his hands from the headboard, mouth now slack against his arm. His breathing is slow, if a bit shivery, and Sole hopes that means he’s found the warm floating of subspace that he needs. She reaches out to touch his jaw and turn his face toward hers just to check. His eyelashes flutter, too fast for her to see the color of his eyes and she quickly pushes his sunglasses back up so all she can see is her own reflection in the lens.

“You all right?” she asks. 

He nods and has to clear his throat before he can find his voice. “M'good.” 

“Yes, you are,” Sole agrees. “You were such a good boy for me.” 

That punches a shaky breath out of him, and she feels his cock twitch. Otherwise, he accepts the compliment without response, waiting for his next orders. She lifts herself up and lets him slip out of her, and he distantly misses the feeling of her wrapped around him but he’s only here to please his mistress. 

“You did so well,” she says, voice and hands soft as she touches across his arms and chest. “My good boy, so good at obeying.” 

Deacon smiles at that, slow and lopsided, feeling almost drunk on her affection. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt so warm and safe and proud of himself. His work for the Railroad is always undermined by loss, someone he could have saved if he’d been a little faster, a little smarter, if he’d just been better. But this is so simple. Sole told him not to come and he didn’t, so now he’s Good. 

“How do you want to come, Dee?” Sole asks. 

Deacon makes a soft, indecisive sound, his thoughts too slurred around in his head for him to form a coherent response, much less make any sort of decision. 

Sole smiles knowingly. “Then I’ll clean you up, and we can go from there.” 

He lets his eyes drift shut again, content to lay back and let her do whatever she wants with him. She takes the panties off first, all the way off at last. He expects her to go get an old t-shirt or something to clean him up with, but then her tongue licks up his length and his mind goes blank. His hand automatically reaches for her head before he stops himself, but she grabs his hand and guides it back down. 

“Sole,” he mumbles, threading his fingers through her hair. “Nnn–uh, fuck.” 

Deacon saves himself at the last second, turning her name into a mindless sound instead. She grips his shaft, her other hand holding down his hip as she takes the head of his cock into her mouth. He feels like he’s dying, teetering on the edge of a chasm without a bottom, and he keeps waiting for his fear of heights, of intimacy, of trust to kick in and ruin everything. 

“Please,” he gasps. 

Sole swallows down his whole length and he can feel his heartbeat pounding through every part of his body. His impending orgasm is coiled so tightly in his gut that he thinks he’ll snap, but he’s held back for so long that he can’t find what will make the tension break. 

“Please,” he asks her again, unsure of what he’s even asking for. 

She moves her hand to touch her fingers against the base of his cock, where drool has gathered, getting them wet then moving them further back. Her index and middle fingers rub his perineum, pressing into his prostate from the outside and shattering him. 

Deacon is surprisingly quiet when he comes, in contrast to how loud he has been, a silent gasp the only indication that he’s fallen over the edge, free falling. The orgasm rolls through him in waves, almost like something happening to him rather than something he is doing. Her fingers keep working him over and her tongue flutters along the underside of his shaft. He’s vaguely aware that he’s shoved his cock as far down the back of her throat as he can get it, but he can’t think properly because his soul might have honest to God left his body.

When he can see and think again, the ceiling of her bedroom tinted by his sunglasses, he becomes aware of Sole touching him, those soft touches she does that smooth over his skin. He breathes out, not knowing if he’d remembered to breathe through the orgasm. He certainly feels short of breath. 

“Do you happen to know …” he asks in between breaths, “the rate of heart attacks … in men my age?”

“That would require you to tell me your real age,” Sole replies. 

Deacon wants to give his own smart reply, but he can’t think of anything other than how nice her hands feel on him, how much he’s seriously rethinking not being the hugging type. He gives a noncommittal hum, and she must understand because she lays down next to him on her side, tangling her legs with him. Her breasts press into his side and she carefully drapes her arm across his chest, resting so lightly that he knows the slightest twitch will shrug her off. So he lays as still as he can until she exhales and relaxes into him. 

A thought suddenly occurs to him and he lets his head flop over to look at her. 

“Did you push up my sunglasses?” 

Sole’s cheeks heat up where she’s resting one of them on his shoulder. “Um, yeah. They slipped down and I could kind of see–but your eyes were closed, so I couldn’t really and then you were going to open your eyes and I would be able to see–so I pushed them back up.” 

He watches as she babbles and stares intently at his chest so she doesn’t have to look at him. Before he can overthink it, he rolls over, shoving his sunglasses up and off his head, then buries his face in her neck. Sole is completely still beneath him for a moment and he worries she’ll gently push at his shoulders, not-unkindly explaining this is a nice fuck between friends but not … whatever he’s trying to make it. 

But her hands grip at his shoulders and pull him closer, and she’s touching him once more, rubbing a hand up and down his back as her other hand cups the back of his head. 

“You’re my best friend,” Sole tells him. “I don’t really know what I’m doing, but I know that. And, uh, I think it’s enough?” 

Deacon dares to lay a kiss on her neck in response and when that doesn’t ruin the moment, he nuzzles against the spot, breathing her in. 

“Bestest friend,” he mumbles, the most his fucked out brain can think of. 

Sole laughs. “All right, bedtime for you, buddy-o.” 

She slides out from under him and out of the bed, and Deacon instinctively buries his face in her pillow to hide without the protection of his sunglasses. He can’t stop the paranoid thought that she’s going to leave now, but she only flicks off the lights and returns with a can of purified water. She sets it on the nightstand and moves his sunglasses to rest beside it, then gets back into bed next to him. 

“Dibs on being the big spoon,” she says. 

The few moments of respite have given Deacon enough time to recover his wits, and he’s grateful she’s allowing him a graceful way to turn his back to her so she still won’t be able to see his eyes. 

“That’s going to require a thirty page application with at least two letters of recommendation,” he says even as he rolls over so she can snuggle up to his back. “The committee will begin the reviewal process within seven to ten business days.” 

“Is any part of the committee open to bribes?” she asks, reaching around him to tease his overstimulated cock. 

“The committee–” Deacon grabs her hand and raises it to his chest instead. “–has exhausted its resources and is on a hiatus, Miss Greedy McInsiatiable.” 

Sole giggles into his shoulder blades. 

“We would appreciate feedback and reviews however,” he continues. 

“We?” 

“The royal we. As a certified Deacon, I speak for the Church.” 

“Ten out of ten amens, with a side of hallelujah,” she assures him. 

“God bless.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, fluffiness and sexiness will ensue in the next chapter! Everybody who wants to see Deacon give a strip tease, raise your hands and shout WOO HOO!


End file.
